


Power Hungry

by LisWrites



Category: Original Work
Genre: Action/Adventure, Aliens, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:06:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26700367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LisWrites/pseuds/LisWrites
Summary: Writing Prompt--The town council died in a freak plane accident. An audit by the interim council revealed 20% of the town’s power is siphoned off to a structure with priority over even hospitals. They send you to investigate the building in the middle of nowhere.
Kudos: 7





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on my reddit [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/LisWrites/)
> 
> New to this site, but I've heard it's good for posting work so I figured I'd give it a try!

**Akito**

Like always, Akito got the short end of the stick. _They never send James to deal with this shit_ , he thought as he pulled the sedan into the lot of the Cartex Building. No—James got sent to dinners with developers and golf tournaments. He’d never get saddled with the task of investigating the shady as fuck building on the edge of town.

Akito smoothed his hair and sighed. There was no point complaining about it. He was the new guy, after all. It was a small town. The politics were boring, that much was true, but he wouldn’t be here forever. Just for a few months, until he had the experience to get a job in Seattle. And after that... who knew. Maybe the UN one day. International unity never failed to pique his interest.

But, for now, Akito had to focus on the task ahead of him. The rain had started to fall in earnest, leaving beaded trails on the windshield as the droplets raced to the bottom. He reached for his umbrella, swung open the door, and stepped directly into a puddle.

 _Shit._ The water soaked through the leather of his shoe and left his sock a damp mess. The hem of his pant leg suffered a similar fate—at least it was dark enough that no one would notice. Hopefully.

 _This better be worth it._ Akito grit his teeth and made his way towards the entrance. Part of him was still convinced this was all a mistake. The intern council was just that—they didn’t have the same experience as the old one. And the old one was old. Akito figured they were all well into their 50s at least. Robert Hanging must’ve been pushing eighty. But they knew what they were doing.

And the new council seemed to think that this building—this rundown, three storey office building on the edge of town that desperately needed its windows washed—was drawing almost a quarter of all the power from the grid. Akito didn’t even see how that was possible. For a place that size to use that much electricity, it should’ve been lit up like a fucking Christmas tree.

Still. He wanted to impress Cara. Even if he didn’t plan on sticking around long, a promotion would be nice. There was a new pair of Atomic skis he’d had his eyes on.

Akito reached the door and pushed his way in. The entrance area was nondescripts. A small grey reception desk sat firmly in front of him and a few dozen faded vinyl chairs lined the walls of the room. No one was at the desk, though.

Akito folded down his umbrella and hit the bell.

A few moments later, a young woman appeared out of an office to the side. Her hair was sleek and blonde and wound up in a tight bun that Akito was fairly sure had been out of style for years.

“Welcome to Cartex,” she said with a smile so falsely bright that Akito wondered if that was where the electricity was going. “How can I make your visit pleasant today?”

Akito blinked. “Uh, yeah. Okay. I’m Luke Mori, here on behalf of the City of Port Angeles.”

The woman’s mouth faltered from her smile, but she corrected it quickly. “Oh, you have nothing to worry about there. Our CEO had everything squared away with councilman Hanging.”

“Well, that’s sort of the thing. In light of recent... events—“ Akito cringed— “the interim council has been re-evaluating cases. There were some flags raised about electricity consumption in this building.”

The woman quirked her head. “We lay the bill don’t we?”

“Of course you do. I didn’t mean to insinuate anything.” Akito adjusted his tie. “We were just curious about the business. As your new representatives, the council would like to know more about what you actually do here at Cartex.”

“We’re a car insurance company. Surely you know that?”

Akito looked around. There were no images anywhere to suggest that. No brochures or pamphlets. “No, I didn’t, actually.” The whole place was strange—the reception area seemed more like one that belonged in a health clinic, with its sort of sterile aesthetic. It was a Tuesday afternoon and not a person was here.

“Well, now you know! Have a wonderful day, Akito,” the receptionist said with a smile and a wave.

Akito stilled. He hadn’t told her his real name. He rarely used it—people around here were always more willing to talk to Luke than Akito. He swallowed thickly and felt his throat bob uncomfortably against his tie. “Yeah, um. Yeah. You too.”

He turned from the desk and pushed his way out into the September rain without bothering to open his umbrella. _Fuck._ His gut tightened. How did she know?

Without thinking, Akito made a straight line for his sedan. Once inside, he let his forehead fall against the steering wheel. _What the hell just happened?_

He pushed his wet hair off his forehead and dug his phone out of his pocket. His thumb hovered over the screen for a moment. He could call Josh and ask for back up, but that prick would never let him live it down. He could call Cara, but that would mean admitting to his boss that he couldn’t handle the most basic task.

Instead, he punched in a familiar number.

“‘Lo?” said the muffled voice through the speaker, thick with confusion.

“Himari?”

“Ugh. Akito—do you have any clue what time it is here? I was sleeping.”

He glanced at his watch. “It’s like 5 pm in New York. You weren’t seriously sleeping?”

A pause. “What’s it to you anyway? I was taking a nap. God knows I’m busy enough.”

Akito bit his lip. “You’re right. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

Himari laughed on the other end. “If you say something about how I need my beauty sleep, I’m telling Mom.”

“Hey—I wouldn’t dream of it.” Akito paused. “I mean, I’d never say that out loud at least.”

“Mhmm. But you _did_ apologize for waking me up which means that you do want something.”

Akito hesitated. “Look, I don’t know how to say this. I know you’re busy and everything, but I think I’ve got a story for you.”

Himari quieted, the way she always did when her interest was piqued. “You sure?”

Akito nodded to himself. “Yeah. I am. Something strange is going on here—I can feel it.”

“Looks like my years of telling you to follow your gut paid off.” Himari let out a small sigh. “But I can’t afford the time off right now.”

“Himari, this could be huge.”

“I’ll see what I can do from here. Okay? You’re gonna have to start this one off, Kito. If it turns into something bigger, then I could maybe talk to my boss.”

Akito nodded to himself again. “Okay, thank—“

A sharp rap on his window cut him off. He started; his phone clattered to the ground.

Outside his window stood the blonde receptionist. The rain soaked her to her core, but she didn’t seem to notice the downpour. Anyone standing in weather like that wearing only a blouse and skirt would’ve been shivering.

But she stayed still. Her smile hadn’t faltered. She reached forward and knocked at the window again.

Tentatively, Akito rolled it down.

“Hello, Akito. Is there a problem with the service I’ve given you today?”

He shook his head. “No! No. You were very... helpful.” He tightened his grip on the steering wheel. If her feet weren’t so damn close to the tire, he would’ve taken off, rude or not.

“And yet you seem dissatisfied with the answer I gave you.”

Akito started. _How could she know._

“You called your sister, did you not?”

“Look, I didn’t mean anything by it. I’m just gonna head out and we can both just pretend I never was here.” His hand reached toward the gear. He shifted from park into drive and punched the gas to the floor.

And his car sputtered like it never had before. The engine gave a resounding bang that rang in his ear and reverberated in his chest. Vaguely, he was aware that the hazards started to flash before abruptly burning out. The radio rose to a swell and died like the rest of his once-reliable car.

 _Whatthefuckwhatthefuck._ Akito’s head pounded against his skull. He’d just gotten an oil change a few weeks ago. This shouldn’t have happened. He had to get out of here.

“Pretend you were never here?” The receptionist chuckled. “I think we both know it’s too late for that.”

Akito’s heart hammered in his chest. The thump of his rapid pulse filled his ears. From his open window, rain splattered down inside his car.

And, on the ground, sat his phone. Himari would still be on the line—she’d never hang up, both out of obligation and curiosity. “I think there’s been a misunderstanding,” Akito said with more courage than he had, “but I didn’t mean any insult. I’m here at the Cartex Building on behalf of my employer, the City of Port Angeles.” He’d raised his voice considerably at that last part. He could only hope that Himari would hear part of it—if she knew either the building or to contact his boss, it was more likely he’d get help soon.

The woman cocked her head and continued to stare at Akito in a strange and clinical sort of way. It didn’t seem cruel. It really didn’t even seem that threatening if he took away everything else in the situation. Instead, it seemed... clinical. Like she was observing him. Making mental notes. Her eyes flitted from his hands to his eyes and down to the floor. “That would’ve been a nice trick. Clever thinking.”

Akito followed her gaze downward toward his phone. The screen was completely black. From the power jack, a small puff of smoke curled upward. \\*Fuck\\*. Akito weighed his options. He couldn’t talk his way out of his one. His car was bust. He really only had one option.

He locked eyes with the woman for a moment. Using all the strength he had in his legs, he pushed himself upward and twisted his torso at the same time. The console between the seats scraped against his legs as he scrambled over it; the hard plastic dug into his thigh and an old coffee cup got knocked somewhere into the abyss between the seats. In the passenger seat, he scrambled to reach for the handle. His hand gripped it. Akito shook more than he should’ve. He wasn’t built for this shit—he did the model UN in high school, not the wrestling team.

But, in the last year, he had taken up jogging as mostly a way to stave off boredom and lose some of that extra weight around his gut that appeared during uni. It had worked, surprisingly. But he was never exactly a sprinter.

But, then again, he never had a reason to.

He pushed open the door and exploded out into the rain. The sheets fell down and blinded him to anything more than a few feet in front of him. Peels of wind knocked against his side. \\*Had the storm always been this bad?\\* When he’d gone into Cartex, his umbrella hadn’t flipped.

Akito pushed his legs until they burned. He had to make it back to the main road. Someone would see him. They had to. There was a cafe not far that he could duck into. He just needed to get out of this lot, then he could plan from there. One step at a time.

A cold, slim hand wrapped around his upper arm. His whole body tensed—his muscles locked and his stomach twisted and his head rattled around. Akito sunk forward, onto his knees, before falling the last few feet. His temple met the wet pavement with a sickening thud. He’d never been tased before, but he imagined this is what it would be like. Like every part of him, every nerve, was on fire. All he wanted to do was curl in on himself in pain. His rigid muscles wouldn’t let him. The world started to darken around the edges of Aktio’s vision.

“It’s a shame,” the woman said. Her voice sounded hollow. Far away. “You couldn’t have just listened. All I wanted to do was to make your day pleasant. It didn’t have to be this hard.”

As the darkness rose and pulled him under, the last thing he clearly remembered thinking was that no matter what she said, something told him their meeting would always end this way.

* * *

Akito came to to a world on fire.

Not literally on fire. It just felt like it. How could he be soaked to the bone and hot at the same time? His head felt heavy and as if it were full of cotton. His mouth was dry and his throat burned.

He was on a floor, he thought. He’d have to open his eyes to confirm, but the light was too bright even with his eyelids scrunched closed.

 _Fuck._ He felt even worse than he had that time after Meerna’s Halloween party. And he’d been safe on her couch, then. Now, he had no clue where he might be.

But he was alive, at least.

And waves of heat were coming off in peels from all directions. With a grunt, Akito rolled onto his side. His ribs screamed in protest. We’re they broken? He’d taken a first-aid course once, but even if he remembered what to do, he doubted he’d find supplies.

Akito opened his eyes. The world was too bright and loud. Again, his head tinged and for a second he thought he was gonna lose the coffee and turkey sandwich he’d had for breakfast on the floor. And he was on the floor, liked he’d guessed.

But, all around him, were walls of purple light. The glow was so strong that Akito had to cover his eyes. Even without the ache in his head, it would’ve hurt to look directly at them. It was like the sun, he thought: impossibly hot and bright. Vaguely, he wondered if the waves of heat were also lacing his body with radiation. As if he needed to be at more of a risk for cancer than he already was.

Akito turned his head gingerly. No matter what direction he looked, all he could do was shield himself from the purple light. It seemed to be a circle around him, a good ten feet in diameter.

He cleared his cracking throat. “Hello?”

No answer came.

“Where am I?”

Again, there was no answer. Akito groaned and lay back on the floor, lowering himself slowly so as to not agitate his head. His clothes were still damp but somehow hot at the same time. He wanted only a warm shower, a few ibuprofen, and a cup of tea. Or maybe some strong whiskey. “Fuck this,” he said.

A chuckle rumbled from somewhere in the distance. “I agree.”

Akito snapped up and winced. _Bad idea_. His head and stomach rolled. Still, he pushed through it. “Hello? Who’s there?”

Again, whoever it was laughed again. “I guess you can call me your cellmate.”

“Oh.” Akito tried to think. He had to be in the Cartex building. Some crazy receptionist took him down as if her hand was a taster. And now he wasn’t alone. Someone else was here and (presumably) trapped behind a wall of light like he was. At least now he knew where all the electricity was going—these things must cost a fortune to run. He drew his knees into his chest. “Good to meet you, I guess. I’m Luke.”

There was a pause before the answer came. “I’m Will.”

Akito let his chin sit on his knees. Nothing made sense here. How the hell was he gonna get out of this one?

“So, Luke, what do they got you in here for?”

“Not sure, really. I don’t even know who ‘they’ are. I guess I just asked the wrong questions.”

“Or maybe you asked the right ones,” Will said. It sounded more like it was to himself than anything. “But I guess you could say the punishment doesn’t exactly fit the crime if you’re down here with me.”

Akito was losing track of how many times the vice of anxiety had clamped over his heart. “What do you mean by that?” he asked quietly.

Will only chuckled again. That dry, grating laugh was starting to get under Akito’s skin.

“You could’ve done something a lot worse than ask a few questions and you still would’ve ended up down here. You should’ve made more of a ripple. I mean, look at me—I’m just sitting down here and I’m the one who killed the council.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Stephanie**

If Stephanie was being honest, her dream job did not live up to her expectations. As much as she tried, she couldn’t shake off the brooding sense of dread that hung over her head. Was this the blueprint for the rest of her life?

She’d imagined that working at a museum would be different. That people would come in with a passion for history. That she’d spend hours and hours deep in the world of artifacts, working her way through scores of history wrapped up in itself. History, she thought, was a web. It tangled together and repeated itself. It wrapped truths in mystery and spun threads out of lies.

In some ways, history itself was an illusion. After all, who was to say what truly happened? No one wrote without bias; no one remembered with exact precision. The questions of it all—of history and truth and interpretation and data—fascinated her to no end. She could spend the rest of her life talking about it. When she got the post at the Royal British Columbia Museum, she couldn’t have been happier. She imagined herself giving a voice to those who history had glossed over. She imagined a giant lab where she could examine the notches on arrowheads and the marks of blunt trauma on ancient and shattered bones.

Somehow, directing field trips didn’t fit into her vision.

“Alright, everyone,” Stephanie said and clapped her hands together. “Thank you _so_ much for coming to the museum today. Before you leave, I want to know: what was your favourite thing today?”

Thirty-two third-graders stared at her blankly. One kid in the front wiped his nose on the back of his hand.

The teacher, apparently sensing the tension, turned to her class. “Come on, grade three. I’m sure someone has something they’d like to share?”

Again, no one answered.

Finally, the teacher spoke up. “Well, I liked the pizza we had for lunch.”

The students perked up—they nodded and raised hands and voiced their agreement.

 _Are you fucking kidding me?_ Stephanie blinked. “Thank you for sharing! That was good, wasn’t it?”

Sometimes, Stephanie wondered if she should’ve just gone into business, the way that some of her friends had. If her job was going to suck her soul anyway, it might as well have been one she didn’t give a shit about.

And, to really top off the day, Paige popped into the corner of her vision just as she was ushering the class out the door.

“Heyyy, Steph,” she said, waving a little and saddling up next to her. “How were the kiddos?”

Stephanie shrugged. “About the same as always.” She could already tell where this was going. Paige never spoke to her (or really anyone else, for that matter) unless she wanted something.

“Hmm yeah, that’s how it goes!” Paige laughed a little too loudly. “Hey, Steph?”

Stephanie held herself from rolling her eyes. “Yeah?”

“Do you mind if I left early?”

Stephanie hesitated. Technically, their boss had no problem with the two of them working out their schedules. If, after the schools left, the front desk was quiet, he had no problem if one of them left early. And the ‘one of them’ always ended up being Paige. Stephanie wouldn’t have cared about it too much, but when the work was left just to her, it always took at least an extra half hour to count out. “Um, I don’t know,” she said. “Kelly kinda scheduled both of us—”

“Oh, yeah. He’s always over-booking, don’t you think? Honestly, I didn’t expect to be working tonight until I saw the schedule, but at that point Brandon had already asked me to dinner.” Sher wrapped her blonde hair in a ring around her finger.

Stephanie didn’t say anything.

“At the Saveur.”

Stephanie sighed internally. She gave Paige a weak smile. “I can close up. You have fun.”

* * *

As expected, Stephanie was nearly half an hour past the end of her scheduled shift when she finished counting out. The front desk hadn’t been too busy (it was a Tuesday evening, after all). Really, they didn’t need the two of them. Besides, it was only just after seven. The sun had just set; faint streaks of orange light still peaked out between the clouds.

She was ducking into the coatroom to pick up her umbrella and jacket when she heard the crash. It wasn’t a loud thing—just a small rumble.

Stephanie paused and held her coat to her chest. _What the fuck was that?_ The security guard was around; she’d seen him just a few minutes ago. And, if anything was really wrong, the alarm would’ve been tripped.

“Hello?” She called tentatively, stepping out around the corner.

A shattering bang rang out through the empty lobby. Stephanie stepped back into the coatroom, shaking with shock. Around the edge of the door, she could hundreds of shards of broken glass scattered across the laminate flooring.

 _Shitshitshit_. Stephanie pulled the coatroom door shut and slipped her umbrella through the door handles. What the hell would anyone want here? They were a museum, sure, but it wasn’t like they had any pieces of classic art or priceless gems. Mostly, they had collections of everyday items like pottery, a few totem poles, and a collection of old clothes and games from the 1920s-1980s.

She reached into her pocket and pulled her phone. With a shaking hand, she punched in 9-1-1. But when Stephanie pressed it against her ear, nothing happened. Not even a dial-tone played over the speaker.

Her ears rang. Her breath hitched and caught in her chest. This couldn’t seriously be happening right now. It was too wild to be a coincidence. Whatever was happening out there, whoever it was, they must’ve blocked out communications. It made sense, she thought. If someone was bold enough to attack a museum, they must’ve meant business.

But did it make sense? Stephanie tried to think through her fear and head rush. If it was terrorists, why would they attack when the museum was closed? If they were robbers, shouldn’t they have gone for subtlety? Nothing in this place could’ve been worth that big of a risk.

A second, stronger rumble shocked the building. The lost and found in the corner spilled over and emptied itself across the floor. Faintly, an acrid scent drifted in from under the door. Stephanie’s nose and throat itched; her heart drummed against her ribs.

Whatever it was, she didn’t want to be here. Who knew what the next rumble would bring? There was an emergency exit not too far away. She knew this building inside and out. All she had to do was get down the hall and turn left, and then she’d be free. By now, someone outside might’ve noticed what was happening. Once she was out, she could let the cops and fire department handle it.

Stephanie pulled off her heels. They weren’t tall (they rose only an inch off the ground) but she couldn’t run in them. She rolled her slacks up too—without the heel, they scraped the floor. To steady herself, she took a breath. Deep. Into the bottom of her ribs. Back out again. She could do this; she needed only to run a few meters.

Stephanie pressed her ear to the door and listened. With her hands, she worked the umbrella that barred her in free. It might work as a weapon, she thought. It had a decent enough weight, though. She tightened her left palm around the centre.

 _I can do this_. Stephanie closed her eyes. There was no noise coming from outside. Her exit route might be clear, but the fact that no alarm had made a sound sent a cool chill down her spine. But she had to make a move. It was now or never.

 _One._ She gripped the handle. _Two_ She cemented the sole of her foot on the floor, ready to push off. _Three._

At the same time, Stephanie wrenched open the door and pushed her way forward. She pumped her arms and focused on the hallway ahead—she couldn’t look back to the lobby. Just a few more meters and—

“Don’t leave me!” a deep voice called from the lobby.

Stephanie hesitated. Her stride faltered. Who else was here? It didn’t sound like someone who meant to hurt her.

“Please,” the man called again. This time, his voice cracked and broke.

She stopped. Anxiety clawed at her gut and her head. She wanted to get out, but she couldn’t leave someone like that.

Stephanie pulled all the courage she could into her heart. Slowly, she turned back to the scene in the lobby.

In the centre of the shattered glass and busted metal of the door frames lay a man. The one who called her. His dark hair stuck up in every direction and his suit was crumpled and torn in sections. He was tall, she realized. Unusually so. His right hand pressed firmly to his left side. And, under his hand, a pool of dark liquid bloomed over his white shirt and had started to spread over the floor.

“Oh my god.” Stephanie swallowed dryly. She started to rush over, but hesitated once she got closer. Glass littered the floor and her feet were bare.

The man held his free hand out flat. Stop. “Don’t come closer, you’ll hurt yourself.”

Stephanie hovered around the edge of the broken glass. From what she could see, there wasn’t any present danger. Just the man, hurt, in the centre of the destruction. “I can get you help,” she said, well aware of how her voice faltered.

The man shook his head. “It’s too late for that.” He winced as he tried to sit up.

“Don’t move,” Stephanie said.

The man grimaced. From this close, she could see his face clearly. He was plainly handsome—a strong jaw and sharp cheekbones. His eyes, though, were odd—his iris were so light grey they seemed nearly clear and his pupils narrowed to pins. “I need you to do something,” he said. Between his words, he struggled for raspy breaths.

“Just lie down,” Stephanie urged. “Whatever it is, I can do it. But I need to go call for an ambulance.”

Again, he shook his head. He reached inside his suit jacket and pulled something out. It was thin, she could see. Metallic. Sort of like a closed pocket watch, but whatever it was, it was much newer than that.

He slid the metal piece across the floor towards Stephanie and sunk down onto his back again. “Take that, please,” he whispered.

Stephanie reached forward and picked it up from the wreckage. It was, as she’d thought, just a closed piece of domed metal. Red fingerprints clung to the surface. “What is it?”

The man didn’t answer. He stared up at the ceiling and blinked slowly.

Was he seeing anything? From the looks of it, he’d lost a lot of blood. At some point, he’d lose consciousness.

The man let his hand that had been pressed against his wound fall away. “Get that to Zeruk,” he said.

Stephanie shook her head. Her face felt hot. This couldn’t be happening. “I don’t understand.”

“Get it to Zeruk. It’ll show you how.”

Blood loss altered consciousness levels. Stephanie knew that. There wasn’t enough flow to his brain; he wasn’t making sense.

“You’ll be okay,” she tried again. Her eyes burned. “I’m gonna call for help.”

He shook his head. “You can’t. Just get that to Zeruk. And watch your back.”

“What?” Her insides turned to ice.

“I’m sorry,” the man said. His voice shuddered. “I shouldn’t have—I never meant for it to happen this way. I miscalculated. This is all wrong.

“I came too early. He was supposed to be here. It’s all different now.”

The man shifted and groaned. “I’m sorry about this. I am. Really. You shouldn’t be part of this.”

Stephanie felt a tear run along the edge of her nose and down her cheek. Nothing made sense. She was terrified—there was a hole in the front of the museum, a dying man on the floor, and a strange piece of metal in her hand.

“You’ve got to go,” the man said. He closed his eyes. “I’ve lost them off for now, but they won’t stay away long. You need to find Zeruk. He shouldn’t be far.

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.” The tight expression on his face slackened. His head rolled back a fraction of an inch.

His chest fell. It didn’t rise up again.

Stephanie pressed her hand against her mouth. Numbness claimed the tips of her finger and toes and mind. This couldn’t be happening. This was Victoria—not some big city. She worked at a museum. People didn’t die in front of her on a Tuesday night. She couldn’t even work out what caused the wreckage in the first place, let alone understand how he’d appeared in the centre of it all.

She’d just wait for help to come. They’d find her here. They had to. Someone walking past must’ve called by now. The paramedics and police and fire department would sort it all out. She’d just tell them what happened and hand them that piece of metal for evidence and tell them about Zeruk.

Stephanie pressed the heels of her palms over her eyes and tried to get her breath back to an even pace.

A faint rattle sounded next to her, the same kind of sound a vibrating phone made on a hard surface.

Stephanie wiped her eyes and looked down. That strange piece of metal, whatever it was, pulsed against the floor.

Tentatively, she reached out to touch it. She pressed her fingers against the smooth top.

Under the pads of her fingers, the piece of metal flooded with warmth until it was hot to touch. _Fuck._ Stephanie tried to pull her hand away; her fingers were burning. But her hand didn’t budge. Some invisible force held her hand in place, the hot metal scaulding her fingertips.

She sank her teeth into her bottom lip before letting out a cry of pain. The pain arced through her hand and sent a jolt of fire up through her arm.

The metal of the deceive surged up, wrapping itself around the whole of her right hand, up to her wrist. Then, with a cool snap, it hardened in place—a silver gauntlet around her hand, perfectly formed, and completely unremovable.


	3. Chapter 3

**Stephanie**

Generally, Stephanie liked to think she was a reasonable person. That time in university when her roommate had slipped on the ice on the steps up to their apartment, she hadn’t panicked when her leg crunched and bent out at an unnatural angle. Stephanie just held Hannah’s hand, kept her still, and wrapped her in a blanket while they waited for the ambulance to arrive.

When it came to stressful situations, it was always better to take a minute to think things through. A few deep breaths and a plan only took thirty seconds to make, but saved a lot of trouble in the long run.

And, for the first time in her life, she’d not things through.

She’d ran.

The shattered glass, the blasted out entranceway, the dead man, the—the thing on her hand: it was too much. She couldn’t think straight.

So she’d fled the scene. Barefoot and in a t-shirt blouse. September in Victoria might’ve been warmer than the rest of Canada, but the breeze that came off the water still chilled her to her core.

Numbly, she’d wandered into a cafe, where she still was now. When rolled down, her pants were long enough to hide her bare feet. She’d managed to shove her metal-covered hand into her pocket and navigate everything with her left. The change at the bottom of her pocket had been enough for the tea she’d been nursing for a better part of an hour.

But Stephanie was running out of time.

“Hey,” said the bored-looking barista, “just letting you know we close in fifteen minutes.”

Stephanie nodded. She took a drink. Her purse, coat, shoes, and keys were still at the museum. Her car was in the underground parkade. It was only a few blocks away, but she couldn’t bring herself to go back.

Going back would make it real.

She pinched her eyes closed and swallowed her anxiety. _It’s not real. None of this is real._

It couldn’t be. Things like this didn’t happen. And they didn’t happen to people like her. And, to top it all off, she hadn’t even seen one bit of commotion. There had been a police car that zipped by shortly after she first got to the cafe, but it had peeled off in the opposite direction. An attack at a museum… it should’ve been national news. There should have been police cars and fire trucks and ambulances and streets blocked off.

Instead, there was nothing.

Stephanie was sure she was losing her mind. Maybe. As far as she knew, mental illness didn’t run in her family. In the past, she’d struggled with anxiety, but that was mostly under control now. And even if it wasn’t, she didn’t see how that would make her mind split the way that it had.

Across the cafe, the only other occupants, a young couple, had started to back up. The barista was wiping down the bar with a cloth, but her eyes kept darting over toward Stephanie, begging her to clear out. Stephanie swallowed the last bit of her now-cold tea and stood. She brought the mug over to the counter.

And she paused. “Are you into fashion?”

The barista raised a sculpted brow. “Yeah?”

“What do you think of this?” Stephanie pulled her metal-coated hand free from her pocket. “It’s a design I’m working on.”

The barista set down the cloth and squinted at the metal. She shrugged. “Not bad. Kinda punk, but it looks a little 2005-emoish.”

Stephanie shoved her hand in her pocket again. “Thanks,” she muttered, her cheeks warming. She wasn’t imagining things; she knew that much. But that also had another unfortunate implication—the metal device around her hand was truly stuck there. And it looked like a cross between a knight’s gauntlet and some strange fashion statement glove that Hot Topic would sell. _Fuck this_.

Stephanie stepped onto the street. The humid air filled her lungs and made her head feel more clear, even if it was only slightly. She pressed her free hand to her temple and stared straight into the night sky. The city wasn’t big, but there was still enough light to blur out all but the brightest stars. The one next to the moon—Venus, if she remembered correctly—shone with a steady beacon of light that cut through the darkness.

Stephanie took a breath. Compared to everything, her problems were small. They would pass. She could figure this out.

She had enough change in her pocket for a bus fair. Okay—she might’ve been fifty cents short, but the driver wasn’t likely to notice (or care) when she dropped it into the cup. She could walk a block East and catch the line that took her to the park across from her apartment. The bus would be heated, too. She wouldn’t freeze. And once she was at her building, she’d buzz Alice Johns in 402. Alice had her spare key and she was always around in the evening, watching the news at a much-too-loud volume. Once she was in her place, Stephanie could get clean and warm and plan out what to do next.

The only trick was that she couldn’t let anyone realize what state she was in. The last thing she needed was the driver or Alice thinking she was in distress in some way. Even though she was. She couldn’t let anyone else in on it.

Stephanie took a breath. _Here we go._

* * *

Forty-five minutes later, Stephanie turned on the faucet of the bath at her place. Honestly, she couldn’t believe that it had worked. At every point in her plan, she was certain that something was going to go colossally wrong.

But, despite the odds being stacked against her, it worked. She was home. No one had stopped her. Her head was pounding and the soles of her feet where pit black, but it wasn’t the end of the world.

While the bath filled, she poured herself a glass of the Malbec that had been sitting on her counter for months. She had been saving it for a date but, well, it didn’t seem like that was going to be happening anytime soon. Tonight warranted cracking open the nice bottle. Hell, she deserved more than wine—Stephanie was fairly certain she had some weed tucked away from the summer. As a rule, she only smoked socially, but tonight she was willing to break that.

With a sigh, she sank into the warm bath. _Everything is shit._ It made no sense. All she could so was let the warm water work on the knots in her shoulders and hope for the best. After all, her mother always said everything looked different in the morning. She just had to hope that was right. Maybe she’d peel her eyes open to a bright world of sun and a free hand and find that everything else was only a dream. Stephanie could hope.

—-

A bang sounded through the apartment.

Stephanie woke with a jolt. Even though her body snapped upright, her head was slow to follow. She blamed it on the wine and weed and warmth of the bath she’d taken. And the stress. When she’d finally gotten to bed, she’d been half worried that she was too keyed-up to catch any rest. As it turned out, that was a non-issue. She was dead to the world the moment her head hit her pillow.

But now something was wrong. There was something loud echoing through the hallways. Not the fire alarm, though. It was like the aftermath of a backfired car.

She rubbed her eyes.

Her hand was still covered in metal.

 _Fuck._ Stephanie curled one hand around her blanket. “Hello?”

Without warning, another bang rang through the apartment. Bits of plaster rained down from her roof. “Oh shit.” Stephanie rolled out of bed and landed on the floor with a thud. Whatever it was, it wasn’t in her apartment yet.

Given the day she’d had, she guessed it wouldn’t be long before whatever trouble it was came knocking on her door. She shrugged an oversized green sweatshirt on and pulled her hair back into a bun (not an easy feat with one hand covered in metal).

 _Think._ Stephanie pinched the bridge of her nose. Her heart pressed uncomfortably into her ribs again and again and again.

A moment later, a knock sounded from her door. Stephanie started so violently she almost knocked over the glass of water on her nightstand. _Pull yourself together._ She was a mess—there was no denying that. But she couldn’t continue to be.

Stephanie only had a studio apartment, so it wasn’t a far walk to the door. She pushed onto her tiptoes and pressed her eye against the peephole.

A cop. He stood there in his uniform, a harsh look etched across his face. His short hair was dark and prickly and his arms well-muscled. He didn’t look like he was one to waste time. But why was he here? Did he have anything to do with the loud bangs?

Stephanie shoved her metallic hand in the front pocket of her hoodie and opened the door a crack. “Hello?”

He nodded curtly. “Miss Reacher?”

“That’s me.” Stephanie’s heart jumped into her throat and she couldn’t push it back down.

He folded his arms over his chest. “We have a few questions for you.” “Okay.”

“I need you to come with me.”

A cool chill sparked up Stephanie’s arm, starting in her metal covered hand. The rest of her body tingled with the wave of dread. This wasn’t right; something wasn’t right.

Stephanie shifted on her feet. “Can I ask what this is about?”

“I think you know.” The cop narrowed his eyes.

His red eyes. The centre—that wasn’t natural. And his uniform… it wasn’t quite right. Not that she’d seen a lot of police up close, but the details were wrong when she looked closely. In fact, the closer she looked, the more wrong the man looked.

Stephanie slammed the door in his face. She pressed her hand to her head. Why did everything happen to her? She never asked for any of this.

The man started pounding on the door again. Yelling to open up.

Stephanie backed up into her room. There was nowhere to go. She did have a small balcony, but she was on the third floor. It was too far to jump if she cared about her ankles—which she did.

BANG.

Stephanie shrieked and ducked. She covered her head with her hands as debris rained down around her. The man, whoever he was, had blown clean through her door.

“I didn’t do anything,” Stephanie said as she scooted back to take cover under her desk. “I promise.”

The man’s heavy boots crunched over the broken wood on her floor. “Then this will be easy,” he said. He knelt in front of her and stared straight into her eyes—his gaze boring down into her mind.

The world seemed to tilt. The edges got hazy, as if time itself was blurring together at the periphery of the world. She was warm, she noticed. Relaxed. Finally calm.

And the man was reaching forward. Stephanie tilted her head, trying to get a better look at him. She was over-exaggerating before, she thought. There wasn’t anything wrong about the way this man looked. He was a police officer, after all, and she could trust him.

The back of her mind sparked to life with a blaze of fire that lit up every nerve of her body. _Defence mode, activated_ , whispered a mechanical voice inside her brain.

The world snapped back into focus. The man, whoever he was, was too close.

“No!” Stephanie raised her arms to push him away.

The man’s body flew back with a jerk and slammed into the opposite wall. He crumbled onto the floor with a sickening crunch.

Adrenaline pumped through Stephanie. _Oh my god_. Had she just done that? She couldn’t have. Could she?

She pushed herself to her feet and slowly walked over. The man lay there, unmoving. She nudged his arm with her toe. He didn’t respond.

 _Ohgodohgodohgod._ She pressed her hand over her mouth. Her mind had snapped. That was the only explanation. She should just call the hospital and get herself checked in. A nice ward, maybe one with a view of the water.

 _Negative,_ whispered the voice in her head. _That would be a counterintuitive plan._

Stephanie’s stomach turned. There was too much dread and anxiety and fear brewing in her gut. And now, to top it all off, she was hearing voices that weren’t real.

_I am real. I’m designed to help the wearer._

Stephanie almost laughed. There was a dead man—the second of the day—in her apartment, a metal glove fused to her hand, and a voice in her head.

_The danger is still imminent. You cannot stay here. You must make defensive maneuvers._

Stephanie did laugh. “Oh yeah? And what am I gonna do after that? Find Zeruk?”

_Locating: Zeruk._

Blue light flooded Stephanie’s field of vision. It was like the sci-fi movies that her ex loved to watch—the world was overlaid with a grid of some sort. Her reality now had another layer. A layer with information, like the material her nightstand was made of, and the time of day running in the corner, and the coordinates of her location. It made no sense; it was too much to look at all at once.

_Search complete. Zeruk is currently located in Port Angeles, Washington, United States._

Port Angeles? That was just across the water...

_Charting route._

A small and glowing blue compass rose flickered to life in the bottom corner of Stephanie’s vision. And, on her metal wrist, a map popped to light. A little line showed a route through her neighbourhood and toward the waterfront. Towards the ferries.

_You are still in emanate danger. Recommend you to depart in no less than three minutes._

Stephanie looked around her ruined apartment. Unlike at the museum, someone had to have heard. There would be police (real police) and swarths of emergency services here in minutes. There was a body on her floor.

She had no choice, really, but to listen to whatever the hell that voice was told her. It was just after four in the morning. She’d barely slept. But, whatever was happening, someone—something—was after her. She was in danger.

Stephanie slipped into a pair of joggers, stuffed some extra cash and her passport into a tote bag, grabbed a spare jacket, and pushed out through her ruined door.

With more confidence than she had, she stepped into the cool night.

* * *

A few hours later, Stephanie was on the ferry crossing the water toward Port Angeles. The wind whistled across the calm water. The breeze ruffled the loose strands of her hair. The compass in the corner of her field of vision shifted as she moved, so she could always see the arrow pointing North. On her wrist, the map continued to glow—visible to only her.

Stephanie leaned against the railing of the ferry and let the cool breeze and mist wash over her face. Even the terrible coffee she’d nursed while waiting for the boat hadn’t given her enough energy to properly face this day. But she had to face it, one way or another. 

There was no going back now. 


End file.
